#described gore

[ryoukio]

jrwi fans and moots we should start a little appreciation train for our favourite gore and horror moments. I will go first: I loved when Shilo Bathory willingly ripped his eye out when he didn’t have to.

[loverboyplural]

May I have a Pokémon ID Pack please?

heavily focused grass + fairy typing, ethan / gold, pokepasta, and fem / neu things for u <- heavily personalized bc i know requester

NAMES !! — Asher – Shay – Bloom – Tulip – Oak – Lyra – Dawn – Marine – Mollie – Ethan – Eco – Eusine – ... – Hurry – Quill – Allie

NOUN PRNS (3RDP) !! — poké / pokés – pika / pikas – bulb / bulbas – unown / unowns – lost / losts – gameboy / gameboys – fai / fairy – silv / silver – silver / silvers – gold / golds

EMOJI PRNS (3RDP) !! — 👒 / 👒s – 🌺 / 🌺s – 🌿 / 🌿s – 🌼 / 🌼s – 🌱 / 🌱s – 💬 / 💬s – 🎀 / 🎀s – 🏆 / 🏆s – 🥇 / 🥇s – 👁‍🗨 / 👁‍🗨s

TILES !! — The Champion – The One Lost Atop Mount Silver – The Frilled Grass Trainer Adorned in Pink – [ prn ] Who is Dead – The Afraid Ghost Gym Leader – [ prn ] Who Was Ripped Limb from Limb – The Monochromatic Trainer – [ prn ] Who Fights in/for Johto

LABELS !! — Pokétistic – ♀️gender – Pokawaiic – PreciousMetalShipic / Huntershipic – Dissopokétrain – Alcremic – Grasserin – Fairren – Lavendertownic – Palkesbian – Wilderic – MissingNoveric – Pokestuffedregressic – Sapphgamic / PokeSapphgamic

♡ :: divider credit

[theredhavendelegate]

Iss. 5:

The Unknown Rot, Redhaven's New Illness!

Part One

Another supernatural tragedy struck Redhaven as local painter Eustace Simmons passed this week due to an unusual disease. The Redhaven Delegate has secured, with permission from the family, a report on the circumstances of his passing and the source of his strange illness.

It seems that the new world we find ourselves in does not abide by all the same rules as the previous one did, including the rules of life and death... ---

Eustace Simmons, stubbled face crumpled with effort, grunts along the evening sidewalk. Another man hangs from his shoulder by one arm, the other slung loosely across the neck of a woman with her dark, greying hair tied into a bun.

Eustace and the woman carry their charge along for another minute or so then slow to a stop, setting the man on the ground and propping him against an unlit barbershop.

Eustace leans hard against his knees and huffs, coughing out, “Did he gain weight d’ya think, Minerva?”

The woman finishes coughing herself and then cackles disdainfully. “Its all water-weight, or booze-weight, I guess. Too much for one evening, methinks. It’ll be a few more blocks yet anyway, so catch your breath.”

Eustace grimaces and raises a brow. “A few more blocks? He lives right down at the end of Linden, doesn’t he?”

Minerva rubs the back of her neck and shrugs, gesturing vaguely toward an upcoming street corner as she replies, “You didn’t stop by George’s place before going to the pub, but they closed off Linden Street this morning to take down a few of the damaged buildings. We’ll have to go around.”

The man groans and begins to protest, but his companion hushes him. “Just relax, we’ll be there before you know it. I’m not cutting through any constructions site, either. I’d throw my back out! Now, help Georgie up again, he’s starting to drool.”

Eustace does, though his brown eyes remain half shut in annoyance the whole time. “Throw your back out,” he mutters, “As if that weren’t what we were already doing.”

Minerva doesn’t respond as the two continue to carry their friend down the road.

They pass the construction site, previously humming but now silent and desolate. One formerly filled building lot is now an empty foundation, a repository for rubble, mostly brick and wood. Several other lots are cordoned off and waiting. They carry on another block and then turn down an alley by the light of the gas lamps, the moonless, starless skies overhead.

Between breaths, Eustace mutters, “Do you…hear…that…Minnie?”

She doesn’t answer but a figure emerges from up ahead.

They are covered in layers of dirty, torn clothing, hood and all, and they reek even at a distance. Their gait is uneven, unsure, and they stumble against a wall to hold themselves up.

As Eustace and Minerva draw close and start to pass, the figure groans, “H-help…me…please…”

Eustace responds almost right away, taking a careful breath first. “Sorry, we really have to get our friend home. There’s a clinic down the street though, the way we came. The doctor is a live-in so you should[TWO DASHES]”

Eustace is cut off as the figure darts upright. Their hood flies back to reveal a sickly, pale visage, sunken cheeks and eyes, their face and neck covered in open sores, purple bruises, and unhealed cuts.

Before either Eustace or Minerva can shout or dodge, the person lunges towards Eustace and takes hold of him by the arm. They grab his right hand and yank on it with desperate ferocity. They bite into his hand, deep, and Eustace kicks them several times until they thrash away.

Eustace stares at the gangly figure, arms held up defensively, primed for another attack, but the assailant slinks off into the shadows again, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

“Is your hand alright?” Minerva asks, breaking Eustace out of his focus. She is half lent against a wall, barely holding George up under his armpits.

Eustace glances down at his bloody hand and then winces, looking away and paling.

“I’ll take that as a no?” A low, gruff voice emits from George now, he’s eyes have just cracked open.

The drunk sobers up slightly and lifts himself to his own unsteady feet as Minerva wipes her hands off on her skirt. He speaks, though his speech is slightly rounded, sanded off at the corners. “Whaddid ya do to piss that guy off, eh? Grumpy bastard, he was.”

Eustace presses his hand tightly between the folds of his overcoat, barely staunching the flow of blood at the cost of a sharp spike in pain. He responds through gritted teeth, “Don’t know, they just came at me. Damn.” His face pales again and he groans, “Minnie, can you get George home now that he’s walking? I need to get back to my place before I…uh…” Eustace’s head grows light and his vision flashes with darkness, but he shakes off the sensation. “…before I pass out.” He finishes curtly.

George steps in an uncertain circle, then nods. Minerva withdraws a baton from her coat, just a metal stick a half-foot long, and nods as well. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the pub again, right?” she asks, voice shaking just a hair.

Eustace grins, though it shows as more of a grimace, and he answers, “Of course, you two are the only people I can stand to be around these days besides Millie. See you in the morning, good night.”

“Good night.”

“Night.”

---

Eustace sets a stack of off-white dishes into a kitchen sink, bread crumbs and coffee stains inside and atop them. He rinses his hands off with plain water, taking care around the right one, which is wrapped in partially soiled gauze.

He wipes his face with a dish towel as well, evacuating the remnants of his breakfast from his motley stubble.

He finally makes his way out of the kitchen and into a side room, a painting space into which falls the dull, whitish rays of the sunless dawn. There is an incomplete painting propped upon an easel, a collection of brushes and pigments, and an unusual still life arranged before them.

The center of the scene is a disused typewriter surrounded with carefully stacked notepads and writing instruments, arranged not for practically but for visual appeal. The pads, pencils, pens, and quills form patterns that subtly lead the eye around the table, to the typewriter, then back out for another lap.

He opens a few of the pigments and takes up a brush in his right hand, then begins to work.

The first few strokes are simple, easy, then his hand begins to rebel, attacking him with flares of pain that make him grit his teeth. Sweat beads up on his brow, errant strokes demand patient correction, more time, more pigment, thicker layers, dip, dip, stroke, flare, grit, sweat, dip, dip, dip.

Eustace throws his brush across the room and the gauze comes loose on his hand. A fleck of dark, rotten blood flies from it and lands on his canvas. He stares at the spot.

There is a knock a the door, genial, confident. Eustace chokes once, then clears his throat and calls out, “I’ll be right there.” He lumbers to the kitchen and removes his still-soiled dishes from the basin, then washes his hand fully. Black-red something comes away, thicker than blood, though the pain isn’t as bad as Eustace expects. He ruins a towel drying his hand, packs cotton around the wound, and wraps it up with fresh gauze.

A voice calls through the front door, slightly muffled but high and calm, “I can go if it’s a bad time.”

Eustace’s heart jumps and he turns hard on his heel toward the voice. “No, no, not at all!” He powers over and opens the door with his left hand to reveal a pleasant young woman, almost his spitting image though with much longer hair. “Millie, dear, it’s great to see you! Come in, please! I could put on some coffee or something if you like, tea maybe?”

The young woman smiles smugly and enters, “Oh, the royal treatment? This is a much warmer welcome than I’m used to.” She sits down at a small round table as her host fills a kettle. jovially, she continues, “And you’re going with Millie now, not Mildred? What’s gotten into to you?”

Eustace answers casually, though his tone is flecked with worry. “Well, I’m just a bit shaken up lately is all. It’s just quite nice to have something to take my mind off of things.”

Millie raises a brow and asks, “Shaken? What’s that for, is the painting difficult? You aren’t already running out of supplies, are you?”

Eustace sets the kettle on the stove and turns around, raising his bandaged hand into the air. “It’s just this. I was attacked on the way home from the bar the other night. Strangest thing, the fellow bit me on my good hand. I’ll be fine though, it just needs time to heal.”

Millie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, but doesn’t question it. “Well, Harvey gave me a day, so I thought I’d swing by to see your latest project if you don’t mind. I take it you aren’t done?”

Eustace tuts and pours coffee into a small cup with a floral pattern. “Not quite, I’d be done today, but it seems unlikely now. Technically it was supposed to be a surprise for you, but I don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh no, I love a surprise so don’t spoil it! We’ll just chat then, I’m in no rush.”

And they do for a little while. Eustace’s focus goes in and out and Millie flashes him an odd look here and there, but the subject matter remains light. Eustace grumbles about the pain in his hand, the prices at the pub, George’s drinking habits, and Millie matches with comments about her coworkers and how strange the sky is to look at, day or night.

“Are you going to report it?” Millie asks abruptly.

Eustace spaces for a moment, then responds, “Report what? Oh, the attack?”

Millie nods.

“To who, the police? They’ll just turn it over to the confederates, and the confederates don’t work for locals like us.” Eustace grumbles.

Millie shrugs and says, “Well, at least have your hand checked. I’m sure the clinic by George’s will take a look.”

Eustace nods and the two sit in silence for a minute or two. Millie finishes her second cup of coffee and rises. “I think that’ll do it then. I have a few errands to run but it was nice catching up.” She flashes another smile, this one warmer, and sets her cup in the sink. “Tell George and Minnie I said hi, and…dad?”

Eustace raises an eyebrow.

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Of course,” Eustace answers with practiced, dry composure.

He rises a moment later and shows her politely to the door.

When she’s gone, he returns to his studio and takes up his brush again, this time switch-handed. The effort feels wasted. The strokes are even less confident then they were in his right hand, and the corrections even more demanding. Dip, dip, stroke, dip, wait, wait, glance, dip, stroke, curse, grumble, stroke, wait, wait…

Eustace sets down the brush and turns away. It’s dark outside already. The light coming in the window is the yellow flickering of the gas lamps. Eustace glances back to the clock above the doorway. “The pub is already closed? How did I miss so much time? Hmm, I hope Minnie and George aren’t worried too much.” “I suppose if they were,” he thinks, “then they’ll swing by”

Time seems to melt again as Eustace heads to his bedroom. The night carries on but sleep doesn’t come, just more pain in his hand and a growing headache. He turns and throws his bedding on the floor. He’s beginning to sweat and his stomach rumbles ferociously. He rises and mutters, “Breakfast, I only had breakfast today.”

He stumbles to the kitchen and digs through the pantry, bumping his knees, elbows, and knuckles on every available surface. He pulls out bread, crackers, vegetables, canned fruit, and despite the continued growling in his stomach, the hunger in his throat; the sight of them elicits disgust.

He pushes the goods away, drops them on the floor and discards them to-and-fro, until he finally gets to the fridge. It’s a small appliance, one that sits just at counter height with a large radiator on top. He opens it up. Inside sits an uncooked chicken breast among other things.

His stomach growls again and the pain in his hand flares up ferociously. Something about the pale meat, partly thawed for tomorrow’s dinner, is hypnotizing. The gentle, gelatinous pink, the fatty streaks of white, all glistening and soft, demanding to be--

Eustace is leaning over the sink. “How did I…” He stares into the basin. His hands are slightly slimy, especially on the fingertips. There is a taste lingering in his mouth as well, just faintly there, sweet and savory. He washes his hands and then checks the fridge again.

The chicken is gone.

Eustace feels as though he should want to retch, but he feels comfortable, full and satisfied. The pain in his hand has eased tremendously as well and his headache has fled.

“Something…something is very wrong with me. I need…I need to go somewhere…” he mutters. “Where though? The clinics aren’t open at this hour, and what would they even do?”

Eustace flexes his right hand and a mild pain jolts through it and up his arm. He peels back the bandage slightly. The wound still hasn’t healed at all, and neither have any of the little bumps or bruises he’s suffered over the course of the day. His mind flashes back to the alley, to the wounded person who bit him.

Quietly, Eustace heads into his studio and takes a notepad, not one from the still life but a spare one, and begins to write:

“Millie or whoever is reading this, I’ve come down with something terrible and am searching for help now. Please take care of the house until I’m back, and if I don’t come back, the house and everything in it should go to Millie Simmons.”

He signs his name beneath in a clean, cordial hand, then tears the note out.

Eustace walks back into the kitchen and sets the note on the round table, takes his coat from a hook by the door, and grabs a rarely used cane.

He feels ill at ease, something is lurking within him, behind him. He considers running from it but steels himself instead.

He opens the door and disappears into the moonless streets of Redhaven.

---

The story doesn’t end there, but further investigation is ongoing at this time. The Redhaven Delegate will have the complete picture soon, so if you want to know what happens next, make sure to pick up the next issue as soon as it comes out.

As always, The Redhaven Delegate stands with The People, and for The Truth, no matter how strange. - Harvey Donaghue, Editor-in-chief, TRD

---

First

Prev

Next

[skidtheperson]

How I think they all died

So I wanted to discuss this because I have some ideas. I will go over the BBI's death ideas, then talk about the order of deaths.

This will include Catnap and Dogday, since it is obvious with their's.

This will NOT include any hints given from the book that came out, due to me not having it.

Order is at the bottom, along with small little TLDRs of all the deaths.

First up, the most obvious of the two, Catnap. We all saw how he died. Praying up to his God only to be stabbed in the back of the mouth and taken away.

I think he wanted the Prototype to help him, looking up to him for guidance and to save him, only for him to do what he does best, betraying people. Thus, he got stabbed and killed. I believe this would have him questioning everything he did for the Prototype after death.

Next, Dogday. This one is also obvious. He, after years of torture, pain, and agony, was honestly at his last straw anyways. He was pretty much dead. Then he got crawled into and left to die, dying from blood lose and being eaten from the inside. Or he just gave up the will power to continue and pass out, dying shortly after.

Now.. This is where it gets fuzzy and we have to use speculation based on the cardboard cutouts and their voice lines, since it tells of people's deaths.

Easiest one is Bobby, her death is obvious. But WHY she was abandoned isn't so obvious. She got isolated and kept away from the others, causing her to lash out to anyone she sees, wanting them to stay with her and love her. She eventually died alone, most likely from starvation/dehydration from being kept in a single room for so long.

Biggest question for me is why? Why was she abandoned? I think because she went crazy trying to be the mother of the group and keep everyone together that she even tried bringing in Catnap again. Which didn't end well all the time. The others saw her as a threat due to this and abandoned her, locking the door so she can't cause problems.

Next two that we can get at is Hoppy and Picky.

Hoppy can be speculated to have fell to her death, and this could be connected to the caves. Maybe she was running through the caves to escape, most likely from Catnap, and tried jumping across an area, only to just barely miss it and fall into the void.

Picky was starting to starve, due to there being no one to make food and no way to get into the kitchen. She would eat at herself, but that never quite satisfied her. So, after some wandering around, she found a body, Kickin. She roasted his body over a fire and ate it for food, but it didn't fill her. Then, she saw Bubba. Due to her hunger, she saw nothing but food from the deceased elephant, cutting his limbs up and roasting them the same way she did Kickin, but she was still hungry.

Then, she saw a pool of red, followed by another person. Crafty, only this time she was alive. But she only something she could consume, not a friend, not anymore. She attacked the unicorn, catching her off guard. Tearing off her skin, real red pooling around them and on her as she continued to eat and eat and eat. She eventually finished, Crafty now almost unrecognizable. But her hunger never ended, it never went away. After some time, she couldn't find anything else and starved.

Kickin is one we can get at, though it's not very obvious. He went outside and died, but what does outside mean? Outside the factory, outside a building, where outside?

I think that while the HOJ was going on, Kickin, trying to be brave, suggesting going out and checking. Though he was terrified.. And after some convincing, he expressed this, saying he was scared to go out. Scared of what was out there, scared of what he'll see, what he'll hear. But he'll still go.. He'll go first to check. Once he stepped out of the building, he regretted it. He was caught, being dragged out.

He screamed, he cried, clawing at the floor as he got dragged and dragged, reaching out to the other person who was supposed to go out after him. From then on, it's speculation of HOW he died, though he could have been just killed off after.

CraftyCorn has almost nothing to tell us how she died, but unlike someone (cough cough Bubba cough cough), she has something. She went crazy, wanting to paint, wanting to draw, but she had no red. Thus, when people came to see her, she attacked to get the "red" she so desired. And she did. She got her red paint. It cost lives, but it was worth it.

Her death I already explained in Picky's. She got attacked by said pig, her skin being torn off. She tried fighting back, but it was no use against the power the other possessed. She could only see her own "red" splatter on the woman as she felt herself fading away, till she died.

BUBBA. He gave us absolutely nothing but remembering someone, then screams. So his death is complete speculation based off his two lines.

Bubba could have with Kickin, comforting him and telling him it's fine, and that he'll come outside with him. But the chicken insisted that he go first, so he let him have his moment. The chicken went to the door and opened it, but the moment he did, he got grabbed and dragged out. Bubba, despite being a bright guy, had no clue what to do but hide in the building and watch as his friend got dragged away, screaming and reaching out to him for help. Yet he did nothing but watch in fear. He eventually ran back inside, shutting the door. He didn't know what to do, what he was doing.

He tries telling himself that it wasn't his fault, and he was just as scared as anyone else would be, yet the memory never went away. The image of him doing nothing to save his friend never went away. He eventually couldn't deal with the thought, the repeating nightmares of it all, even after it ended, and just went out and found Catnap, giving himself up to him to let him die.

Now, order. This is gonna go from the first (top) to the last (bottom).

KickinChicken - Died by Catnap when trying to go out and check. Hoppy Hopscotch - Fell to her death in the caves. Bubba Bubbaphant - After seeing the death of his friend, he gave himself up to die. CraftyCorn - Was ripped apart and her skin was torn off by Picky. Bobby Bearhug - Died alone and isolated, most likely from starvation. Picky Piggy - Ate others to survive, but eventually there was no more food, so she starved. Dogday - Bled out and eaten from the inside after years of torture. Catnap - Stabbed in the back of his head through his mouth and dragged away.

[camouflaged-target]

Back fr⊙m the sh⊙re, a friend ⊙f mine helped ██ haul ██ hunt back t⊙ ██ hive. █ am currently butchering the carcass, and figured █ w⊙uld talk ab⊙ut the pr⊙cess while █ take the ⊙ccasi⊙nal break.

The pr⊙cess and ██ frankly unsightly ramblings will be beneath the cut

The Lusus is a Sea-Tuskbeast, ar⊙und 12 Califearnian feet l⊙ng in length. The bl⊙⊙d is a c⊙ld fuschia. M⊙st pe⊙ple inexperienced when it c⊙mes t⊙ Sea dwelling Lusi figure that fuschia bl⊙⊙ded lusii are immensely rare, when that isn't the case. Plenty ⊙f invalid [As in, unable t⊙ raise tr⊙lls] fuschia lusii exhist, the main issue is the fact that it's the⊙rized that there is ⊙nly a single species that has the instinct t⊙ care f⊙r y⊙ung tr⊙lls ⊙f their ⊙wn hues.

When skinning a Lusus ⊙f this size, y⊙u'll want t⊙ make y⊙urself m⊙re then c⊙mf⊙rtable with bl⊙⊙d and flesh, as y⊙u'll practically be swimming in it. A l⊙t ⊙f this will als⊙ apply t⊙ killing bi⊙l⊙gical c⊙mp⊙nents ⊙f machines as well. Anyway, as y⊙u finish freeing the skin ⊙f the flesh, y⊙u'll want t⊙ start feeling f⊙r j⊙ints. █ have f⊙und that ⊙nce y⊙u find them y⊙u'll want t⊙ dig a large flat blade t⊙ f⊙rce the b⊙nes apart, and a small knife t⊙ cut away at any c⊙nnective tissue.

N⊙w that y⊙u have y⊙ur Lusus seperated, begin flaying and cutting int⊙ reas⊙nable p⊙rti⊙ns t⊙ st⊙re. Feel free t⊙ have a snack, if y⊙u're c⊙nfident that y⊙ur meat is free ⊙f parasites ⊙r r⊙t.

[bug-in-a-body]

you could eat me alive

use your bear teeth to rip into my flesh like a beast who is full

but bloodlust is stronger than any hunger its been subjected to

and i would still write poetry about your perfection and kindness

you could claw into my chest

mangling and disfiguring anything that resembles me

leaving nothing but a gaping hole in my torso full of a paste made of flesh, blood, and bone

and words of praise would ooze out of my mouth like golden honey thanking you for removing the things that have caused me such sorrow

[dragonmons]

having a job that demands use of your dominant hand and hobbies that demand use of your dominant hand is great when you have smashed one of the fingers on your dominant hand full force with a fire axe so hard it popped the finger pad open like a water balloon

[queer-ghosts]

can someone just cut my stomach and whole digestive tract out of me? at this point i feel like that'd hurt less

[weabooii]

A fight against futility

poor Junpei :'(

[gardensnakie]

They are SOOOO normal

[eightfish]

An old woman in a Florida swamp told me she once knew a man who had been killed by a stab in the heart from a great blue heron.

[wyyvoren]

you are the emperor on high, you are the deliverer of justice, you are the hand that toppled the mountain. still, you hunger. and what a mighty hunger it is.

[ID: the lone figure of Luo Binghe from Scum Villain, standing amidst dozens of corpses, cloaked in shadow, his demon mark and eyes glowing red. the background is on fire. end ID]

[valtsv]

[artlyloser]

[ID: An Illustration of Lady Godwin beheading the wolfman from TAZ vs Dracula. We only see the neck and disconnected head of the wolfman. He is stylized in red and yellow and between we can see Lady Godwin swinging her great axe. Her face is twisted in glee and anger on her dead blue skin. Her body is more purple and covered in scars and stitches. END ID]

GODS NOT DEAD BUT THE WOLFMAN IS

[springypaws]

Why in the world do so many memes/joke images do nothing but remind me of this man.

How can a game be so good with a protagonist who’s literally a walking meme (I say this with so much platonic affection 💋)

Plus the original image:

[hoplessartist]

"Hunt."

I am a sucker for brutal massive old ladies, Jonny what where you thinking?